ANK Red Cat 3 Epilogue Tail
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: Everything has a price, and sometimes a job half-done, an unresolved issue or a broken promise comes back to haunt. Raoul, Katze, Guy, Kiri. Violent resolution to a simmering problem, lessons in closure and forgiveness. Does love really conquer all?
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom:** Ai No Kusabi  
**Disclaimer:** The characters in this story are not mine. This story is not for profit.  
**Rating:** M  
**Warnings:** Male/male affection, violence  
**Characters:** Raoul, Katze, Guy, Kiri  
**Summary:** Everything has a price, and sometimes a job half-done, an unresolved issue or a broken promise comes back to haunt.

xxx

Soft and grey, the morning rises above the city. Silent light washes through the panorama window and bathes the study in stillness. A swath of it creeps through the open door of the bedroom, soaking up shadows in its path and lending Raoul's hair a pallid hue. Katze picks up one long, tangled strand and lets it slide through his fingers. Raoul is sleeping on his stomach, his long, muscular body sprawled out amid the messy sheets, the blanket bunched by his feet.

Katze smiles faintly, and for a moment he closes his eyes to let himself sink back into the past night. He can feel it in his body, a welcome heaviness in his limbs, the heat of what he and Raoul have done still there, simmering and ready to flare at a touch, a word, a breath. He touches his mutilated groin, cupping it, feeling the scars with his fingertips, and bites his lips as he allows himself to feel sparks of pleasure, like streaks of lightning over a heaving sea. The image of his body in the scanner, smooth and whole, presses into his thoughts again, and the heat fades away. He has been dreaming about it and woken shaking, bathed in sweat, his heart racing and his chest tight, one of his many nightmares.

Quietly, he rises and goes to get his cigarettes from the glass desk in the study. He pulls on his jeans and lights up as he steps out onto the terrace. The city seems subdued in the pale dawn, a strange lull that will soon burst into the noise and bustle of the day. Katze leans over the bannister and lets the cool breeze caress his skin. Sucking in a lungful of smoke, he lets his head loll. He can feel showers of goosebumps cover his body and his nipples harden in the morning chill, and savours the sensation, the memory of touch that comes with it.

"You look good like this," he hears Raoul say, and then his warm, heavy hand slides from Katze's lower back up to his shoulderblades. "But you look better naked."

Katze laughs. "I'm not sure your cronies would agree."

Raoul joins him, still unclothed, and gives him a sideways glance. "Some might be jealous."

"What, of you screwing the boss of the Ceres slums?"

"Of my companion."

Katze straightens and flicks some ash away. His golden gaze meets Raoul's green eyes. They look at each other for a moment, then Raoul leans in to touch Katze's scar with his lips. "Beautiful," he murmurs, an odd tenderness suffusing his voice.

_Almost too much for a man, _thinks Katze. He wraps his arm around Raoul's waist and kisses him back firmly. "Bullshit," he laughs hoarsely, and the moment breaks.

xxx

Back at Katze's place, Kiri has swept the garage and made the bed in the room above. He also has a message for Katze, a friendly invitation to negotiate certain business arrangements that relate to one of his clients, the club where he picked up Kiri. It has been an uneasy working relationship, and he makes up his mind to end it and replace the manager, but this is something he will do in person.

_Calling in old debts,_ he thinks as he gets into his red roadster. _They all catch up with us. Well, here we go..._

xxx

In the semi-darkness of the road behind the club, Katze parks his car and cups the fresh cigarette wedged between his lips to shield the flame of the lighter. For a second he closes his eyes as it flickers over his face. The blow hits him at the base of his neck, between his shoulderblades. It knocks the breath from his lungs and makes his world go black.

xxx

The world has turned into a blur of heat and dust. He can taste dust filling his mouth, grinding between his teeth. It fills his eyes, making him blink. Black and red spots dance before him, on the hot concrete his face is pressed against. A stalk of dry, yellow grass pokes into his nose. He tries to shift and grunts as a spike of pain tells him he is still alive. He comes round slowly, his head thick with a blinding ache that wells from the base of his skull and spiders out into his limbs, tingles in his fingertips and toes. His hands are bare, and he has lost his boots. He tastes blood, sweet and steely, seeping from his bitten tongue. It is an effort to regain his bearings. His hands are tied behind his back and knotted firmly to his ankles. He can see the ends of his belt. He is still wearing his coat but his jeans are unbuttoned and rucked down to his naked feet, exposing him. A wave of nausea knots in his stomach, and he struggles to fight it down. Something about this seems familiar, but he can't place it, can't think, his mind on autopilot, survival instinct drowning out everything but one thought.

_Stupid. _

Summer in the city smells of engine oil, fuel and the foul reek of the slums. The sun is beating down. He can see lumps of concrete, rusted and mangled steel girders, balls of tumbleweed and litter. A distant hum makes the ground beneath him vibrate. He starts shaking, the chill of shock seeping into him. Groggily, he shifts, trying to get up, working the belt that keeps his wrists and ankles together. Gritting his teeth, he makes it to his knees.

"And now," a voice cuts into his souped brain, "stay like that. On your knees. You look good like that."

It clicks. It isn't even surprising.

"I always wondered what you looked like down there."

Katze tries to shuffle around. He freezes when he hears the snap of a security catch. He can sense the gun trained on him as if it was poking his ribs.

"Don't turn. I'm going to enjoy this." A small pause, the click of a lighter, then a deep breath and the smell of cigarette smoke. "You really think I was finished, huh?"

"Guy," Katze grinds out. "You're being stupid."

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Dusk melts into a starry summer night when Raoul has time to wonder where Katze is. He takes a glass of wine and wanders out onto the terrace to gaze over the light-hazed city. The fading heat of the day seems to muffle even the noise that rises from the busy streets before a cool evening-breeze brings some relief. The wine tastes stale. Raoul stares out into the darkness and wonders why he is missing the reek of cigarette smoke and the fire of sharp retorts. He feels alone.

xxx

Katze feels grit press into his bare knees and shuffles to ease his position. Guy steps in front of him. He is in a dirty grey tee, one sleeve empty, and grubby jeans with burnholes and tears. He also wears ankle boots, laced up to mid-calf. He stares down at Katze who glances up, his eyes narrowing against the white sky and the glare of the sun. He can't see much of his surroundings because before his vision is hazed with red, and he feels like he's been drugged.

"What do you want?" It is a logical question. It falls tired and weary from Katze's lips, and he thinks he knows the answer anyway.

The steel-capped boot kicks his stomach and he collapses, retching and struggling for breath. He drops and coils up, puking out what little he has eaten that morning. The second kick hits him in exactly the same spot, and this time he screams. He can hear his ribs crack, a sickening grinding of bone on bone, and the white heat of agony that won't die down. Guy steps onto Katze's face, grinding it sideways into the puddle of vomit.

"This," Guy says, angry satisfaction in his tone. "I've wanted this for a bloody long time. Almost forgot how it feels." He takes his boot off Katze's face and stoops to rake black-edged, chewed nails down the redhead's cheek, ripping the papery skin of the scar. His fingers are studded with thick rings made of old steel nuts, rusty and oil-caked as if straight from the scrapyard. His backhand splits Katze's lip and cracks two teeth. "You look good like that," Guy says, leaning closer to inspect the damage. Through the thick fog of pain, Katze sees him smile, and suddenly the dirt, the anger and the meanness all fade away. Guy looks young and fresh again, a man in love for the first time.

xxx

Time slips. There is nothing but light and heat, laced with the smell of cigarettes and the sour stink of puke. Sweat runs between Katze's shoulderblades. He can feel his face swell up, the skin tightening over bruised bones and around his eyes. It is unbearably hot. He is sliding and there is nowhere to hold on to.

xxx

He can see a wall. His arms are pulled up above his head, his face is pressed against hot, sooty concrete, with a vertical crack from which a single stalk of grass grows. Grey and yellow, the hues of a summer day with the smell of exhaust fumes and baking dust, and something else he cannot quite place. He can feel the grainy surface, and slowly he registers his body, limb by limb, by the pain that throbs through him. Different kinds of pain, some dull, some sharp, some deep within his chest, telling him about bruises and broken bits, about sorrow and regret.

_Nothing hurts more, _it drifts through his mind, _than regret. Did you say that, Iason?_

He tries to shuffle his position to relieve his numb shoulders and feels the rough surface and the heat of the sun beating down on his back. Without surprise, he realises that he is unclothed. Sweat runs between his shoulderblades. It stings his skin, raw with sunburn. Tilting back his head, he heaves with a fresh knot of nausea, and his broken ribs make him yelp, but he can see a steel eyelet welded to a torn girder and a thick black plastic cable tie.

"Where are we?" he rasps, trying to find out whether Guy is still around.

"Doesn't matter," comes the hoarse retort from somewhere behind him. "Funny. You still do it. You still got Black Moon on you. And a gun. Nice piece that, nobody's gonna hear shit when this goes off." The clack of the security catch makes Katze feel ill. Whack. The bullet hits the ground between his feet. He can feel the explosion of dirt and concrete splinters. They prick his ankles, and blood runs, warm and sticky, where they cut his skin.

"It's not gonna help." His voice is a scratchy whisper, and he can feel his throat like a lump.

"What?"

"It's not gonna bring him back to you."

The silencer tears into him the moment Guy's body slams against Katze's back, knocking his face into the concrete. "I'll make you pay," Guy hisses, "you and your fucking owner."

It's coarse and blunt, and it works. Reminding Katze of his past and that Guy has what he lost a lifetime ago.

_Freedom. The real thing. And all his bits. Never mind the arm... _Katze bites his tongue. _But I have no owner. I'm free now. Free, free... _He wants to laugh, and it's an effort to beat down the wave of madness that washes through him. The taste of blood and dirt fills his mouth, bitter and cloying. The sleek barrel nails him, reminds him of other things, stuff that's worse than what Guy does to him, and he thinks that it could have torn him if he hadn't been with Raoul the night before. The thought makes him sick and he clamps down on it before it can swallow him whole. He concentrates on the pain instead. He is hurting everywhere, inside and out, his head feels thick and swimming, and he is unspeakably thirsty.

Guy leans on him. "Nothing to say, huh? He gonna come after you? Maybe not. I don't care." Another thrust rocks Katze to his toes. "Wanna shit yourself? Go on then."

The gun leaves, and Katze sags against the wall. His arms hurt in a strange, stringy way, his hands feel cold and his wrists are smudged with blood where the plastic straps have rubbed through the skin. "You're not gonna do it," he mutters.

Guy laughs. "Smart. Would be good to blow your guts out, but I won't." He lights one of Katze's fags and takes a deep pull.

"Wonder how Riki would like this," Katze says, squeezing his eyes shut in expectation of the next hit. It doesn't come.

"Riki!" Guy snarls. "You! It was your dirty business! You took Riki away, you dragged him back to this sick bastard!"

"You don't get it," Katze says, trying to keep focused when his brain wants to go to sleep and his body is a sea of pain. "He wanted to go back. And you left him no-"

"Shut up!" The steelcap kicking into his groin makes Katze blank out.

xxx

Raoul puts the empty glass on the desk, next to the almost finished bottle and the untouched glass next to it. He checks his messages, then the grid of the city on his computer, but there is nothing that asks for his attention. It is not unusual that Katze doesn't turn up, sometimes he stays away for days on end without saying where he goes or what he does during that time. Raoul never asks. Some things are best left unsaid. He tries to understand what unsettles him this time, an undercurrent of disquiet that makes him restless. His glance passes over Katze's side of the desk, to the open bedroom door and back. Katze's laptop sits still and dark on its place.

And then it strikes Raoul that the laptop would be gone too if Katze was working elsewhere.

xxx

There is no sign of Katze anywhere. The police, unsurprisingly, can't find him. He is not Raoul's only link to the world beyond the city but nobody has seen him, and the blanket of silence unnerves Raoul. Surprised, he finds it difficult to stay calm, and when he seeks focus in Jupiter's hall, he feels nothing.

Halfway through another night he makes his decision, ignoring Jupiter's silence.

xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Kiri blinks as the door breaks open. From the street washes cool air and the smell of exhaust fumes along with the heavy growl of a jeep engine. He ducks away from the glare of the torches that jab shafts of light into the garage and lifts his arms as if to deflect a blow. He is in his cage, slouching in a corner, a syringe by his feet along with a few empty ampoules. The door stands open. He has dirtied himself and he stinks of sweat and fear.

Raoul, in black combat gear, his hair tied back and tucked under the collar of his uniform, stares down at him. "Where is he?"

Kiri squirms, trying to cover his face with his hands. "Hey, man" he slurs, "what's going on..."

"Katze. Where is he?" Raoul's tone is calm but it carries an undercurrent that makes Kiri shiver.

He snivels nervously. "I don't know..."

"I can make you remember."

"I can't..."

Raoul raises his gun in his gloved hand. "Get out."

Kiri crawls on his hands and knees and crouches at Raoul's feet. Waves of shivers shake him. Raoul steps back. "Talk to me, or I'll squeeze it out of your brain," he says coldly. From outside, someone barks an order, then the radio clipped to Raoul's belt crackles to life, urging him in the raspy voice of his adjutant to leave the area. Raoul ignores it.

Kiri starts rocking back and forth. "I don't know, I can't remember... that place, it was ugly."

Raoul feels his chest tighten. "How did you get there?"

Kiri doesn't hear him, his gaze is empty, the irises narrow around huge pupils. "He gave me stuff," he mumbles. "It's cool, man..."

"Who?"

The rocking becomes more frantic. "He took me home."

It takes a moment before Raoul registers the grey metal cuff around Kiri's wrist. The tracer doesn't blink, it is switched off, but he can't recall Kiri with it when he saw him first at Katze's place.

_Sitting tight somewhere in Ceres,_ Katze's wry remark drifts into his thoughts. The day Katze had surprised him because he'd turned up at the office without the cuff that Raoul had locked on him. He had put it on someone else, but it hadn't been Kiri. And now...

"Who took you home?"

Kiri glances up, confused. One of his eyes is black and swollen, his cheekbone badly bruised. "Guy." He frowns. "I'm not going back."

Raoul feels his patience running out. Every second stretches into an eternity, a rising tide of time that presses down on him. "Back where?"

"Yellow. It's dirty, and yellow..." Kiri's voice trails off, he sways, and Raoul stoops to grab his jaw and yank up his head.

He stares into Kiri's eyes. "Look at me." He waits until those glassy eyes try to focus on him. "Tell me what else you see."

"Nothing... there's nothing. It's all burned down. He said it would be different, but I can't remember. He hit me."

Raoul drags him up and pushes him towards the door. Two men in combat gear reach out and load Kiri into the back of the jeep while Raoul climbs into the passenger seat. "Dana Bahn," he commands, his voice cutting firmly through the noise of the engine.

xxx

It is cool and dark when Katze comes round. He is leaning face first against the concrete wall. He can't feel his arms. Every breath is hard, his lungs compressed by his tightened ribcage and pulled-up shoulders. His knees are weak and shaky. The pain has melted into a numb throbbing that pulses through his body from head to toe. A stinging headache sits in his temples and clamps his eyes, his brain, making him sick again. He tries to turn but is too slow, and bile spills from his lips, dripping down his chin to his chest.

The smell of cigarette smoke drifts into his consciousness. He tries to clear his mind but it is difficult to shake off the exhaustion that has settled there.

"You still alive?" Guy's steps grind on the dirty ground, and then his fingers rake down Katze's sunburned back. Katze squirms. Guy laughs. "Told you this is gonna be fun."

Katze tries to form words, but his throat feels tight, his tongue is a swollen lump in his mouth, and his lips are cracked. He finds it hard to swallow. "You kicked him out," he rasps, a hoarse whisper barely above his breath. "So you could fuck Kiri."

Guy yanks back Katze's head by his hair. "Shut up."

They stare at each other, Katze's eyes narrow and tired, Guy's large, clear and angry. "I loved him. Riki was mine."

"He was free."

Guy ignores this, or perhaps, caught up in his misery, he hasn't heard it. "That wasn't him anymore. I loved him, asshole."

"You made him... like me."

Guy spits out, the glob landing on Katze's cheek. "You did that. You turned him into this... this thing. Mink's fuckdoll. You screwed with his brain."

Katze closes his eyes. "What aer you going to-"

"I'm just waiting. I wanna watch you die, like I saw Riki die. I got time."

xxx

Kiri huddles between two bulky men in uniform. He is silent during the ride to the wasteland that surrounds the ruined station. Plucking at his scarred underarms, chewing his nails that are bloody already, pressing his bare feet together and shifting on his seat as much as that's possible. The jeep dashes through the filthy streets of Ceres. It is loud inside with the rumble of the powerful engine, the clatter of weaponry and kit, and the grainy bark of the radio from which pour orders, confirmations, data and co-ordinates that relate to the fringes of the city grid. The darkness is sliced into slivers by floodlights, and in their glare the streets look white, riddled by shadows, crowded by uniforms and hastily thrown up roadblocks. People are herded towards checkpoints and large lorries with transport cages on their platforms are queuing into the roads. The controls are quick and efficient, Raoul's jeep is waved through without delay, past the jittery clumps and lines of people, most of them wide-eyed with confusion and fear.

They pass another checkpoint and see a mass of cars, parked up against a perimeter of armoured trucks and light tanks, their weapons turned inwards, towards Ceres. Beyond lie the wastelands and the old road to Dana Bahn. People are inside the cars that are packed so tightly that the doors can't be opened. Like a tide held in a bowl, they have washed up against its rim and been contained there, frozen debris, mud settling at the bottom. The jeep is waved past, through a narrow sidestreet that crawls with uniforms, bristling with guns and riot shields, sharpshooters on the rooftops and hanging from the windows. Kiri shrinks on his place, crawling into himself like a scared child.

And then they're breaking free of the slums and reach the road to the old station.

xxx


	4. Chapter 4

The dreamless spaces between waking and drifting grow longer. Katze is feverish, and it's getting harder trying to keep breathing, staying on his feet. When he cares to look, he can see, from the corner of his eye, a faint glow under the darkening sky. Something about this disturbs him beyond the bare instinct to survive, but he is too tired to figure it out. There is a lone star high above, sinking into his mind with the memory of a touch, but it melts away as a cool breeze drifts by, and he can feel his scorched skin ripple with chill. He smells earth and damp ash, and suddenly he knows where he is. It makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Hey, Guy," he murmurs.

"I hear you," comes the laconic reply.

"They're gonna find us."

"I know."

"Won't be long."

"Don't care."

"Might not be long enough to see me die," Katze grinds out.

He can hear Guy's steps, and then Guy's face swims into Katze's vision. It is strangely quiet, as if all his anger had gone, leaving him still and empty. "Then I'll help you along," he says, and Katze can feel the prod of the silencer against his ribs.

The haze of light is too low to come from the bowl of fog above the city. It seems to waver along the horizon, barely above the ground. The smell of ash grows stronger as the sky deepens and the star grows brighter, clear like crystal on blue velvet. The silence of the ruined station is so deep, Katze can hear his own blood pounding in his ears. He feels incredibly thirsty but there is no point asking.

"Riki... he wanted you to live," he says, his lips stiff and numb.

Guy pulls the scrunched-up packet of Katze's cigarettes from his jeans pocket and lights the last one of the cheap smokes. There are only two Black Moon left. He looks at them for a moment, then puts the packet back. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"He died-"

"Because he went back to that bastard," Guy cuts in, a fresh flare of hatred in his tone, quickly subdued by something that seems like resignation. "That bloke who ripped off my arm. Who made Riki into this... animal. Who made him LIKE it. He got what he went for."

"Riki thought you were his friend," Katze murmurs.

Guy stares at him. "I loved Riki," he says, with a breath of smoke into Katze's face.

"He didn't love you."

Guy tenses, and Katze flinches, expecting a blow, but Guy steps back and points the gun at his head. "You want me to kill you. Sure thing, but there's no rush."

"I want to live," Katze says. And then, into the startled quiet, "You're all the same. You, Iason, the lot. You all want to own... win... like this was a fight."

Guy snorts but makes no reply. He stoops to rummage through the small pile of clothes - his own ragged jacket, Katze's stuff - then straightens, a bottle in his hand. He wedges it between his knees and unscrews the top, pulls it off with his teeth and takes a long drag. The reek of alcohol hits Katze's nostrils and makes his head spin. He watches the strange shine spread in the distance, a wedge between the blackening sky and the low horizon. Silently it seeps into the night, and then Katze sees fingers of light rise from it, gliding into the sky as if to touch it, sliding across the sea of darkness in wide arches that sink back to where they have risen. Katze stares, and suddenly it hits him what this means.

Guy steps to him and holds the bottle to Katze's lips. The glass clicks hard against Katze's cracked teeth, and the stink of booze makes him sick.

"Aren't you thirsty? Here, drink," Guy orders, tilting the bottle. The stuff sears Katze's lips and burns his dried-out mouth. He spits, but Guy grabs his hair and pulls back his head. "I said, drink."

There is no choice but to swallow. Guy gives him an unkind smile as he takes the bottle back to down the rest as if it was water. Katze's focus narrows to one single thought, and he tries to hold on to it, to get it across before he passes out. "You see that? The light? They'll find us, and then-"

"I don't care," Guy repeats, his tone bland, distant.

"You kill me," Katze grates out, "and Ceres will burn."

"What, 'cos I snuff the godfather? You're not the only one, asshole."

"Because," Katze manages, his voice fading to a thready rasp, "He's been waiting for this."

"Who?"

"Raoul."

A smirk pulls at Guy's lips. "Your owner?"

Katze closes his eyes and lets his head thud against the wall. "Ceres..."

"Here's news for you," Guy says, leaning back to throw the bottle in a wide arch into the night. Katze hears the glass shatter, and then Guy sits down closeby, his back against the wall, and pulls his jacket over like a blanket. "I don't care about Ceres either. Let it burn."

xxx

"Enough. You heard me. We leave the jeep here." Raoul climbs out of the vehicle and stretches his long limbs before turning to stare at Kiri, wedged between his two minders. "You, move."

The men shove Kiri out. He drops to the ground with a hard thump, scrambles to his feet and stumbles towards Raoul who watches without pity, his shadow long in the glare of the headlights. Dust is drifting past, specks of ash and soot, like snow in summer. Kiri's features are shiny with sweat and he is shaking madly. Raoul hands him a paper bag. In it are a gun, a syringe and an ampoule. "Go on." He looks on as Kiri hastily draws up the liquid and slides the needle into his vein, without tying or tapping it.

Kiri sinks to his knees, and for a moment there is pain on his face before he relaxes. His expression turns blissful, then blank. He pulls the needle out and drops it and gets up, the bag with the gun in his hands. The shaking subsides, and he blinks away from the light.

Raoul nods at the dark road before them. It smells of baked dust and damp ashes. "Walk," he says, stepping towards Kiri. "Find him."

xxx


	5. Chapter 5

His head is swimming. It has to be a fevervision, he thinks, that he sees Kiri lurch into his sight and crouch to pick up the gun that lies by the heap of clothes.

Guy, slow because he is drunk, scrambles to his feet. "Hey," he slurs, "gimme that."

Kiri clutches the weapon with both hands and points it at him. "Don't! Stay... stay where you are."

Guy laughs. Katze can hear his steps, and then he sees him, hand in his jeans pocket. "You got smokes?" Guy rasps.

Kiri shakes his head. The gun wavers. "Let him go," he blurts out.

Guy snorts. "You fried your brains, asshole."

The darkness around them shifts. Katze can feel it move, as if shadows were crawling over his burned skin, touching his swollen face, wrapping around his broken body. He wonders whether this is how he'll die.

"You lied," Kiri accuses. "You said you'd talk."

"I did. He wouldn't listen. So I made him."

"You hit him. You hit me."

"I gave you your sweets, didn't I? So piss off."

"Let him-"

"Blah, blah," Guy cuts in, stretching out his arm as he takes a step towards Kiri. "Gimme that now."

The gun in Kiri's hands starts trembling. A soft click as the trigger engages. "You beat me," Kiri throws at Guy. "I don't wanna go back with you."

Guy pauses, his face dark with anger. "You stupid twat," he spits. "He's the bastard who did this to you. He wiped your brain and turned you into a whore, he put you into that dump in Ceres, he gave you to me. Don't you get it? He's the liar. He put you here."

Kiri's face shines damp with sweat. Strands of dirty, greasy hair are caked to his brow. He blinks, slowly, and then a large tear rolls down his hollow cheek as he glances at Katze. "Is that true?"

The break is just long enough before Katze answers, pushing himself to sound confident as he lies. "No." And then the shadows pounce and wash over him. A gunshot cracks, someone screams - an angry howl - the trampling of booted feet, the bark of commands. He is sliding, unable to grab on to any of this, and into the darkness a familiar voice says, _it's all good now..._

_Iason, _Katze wonders,_ what the hell are you doing here?_

_I've been waiting, my friend. I'd say you're too early._

_It doesn't make sense._

_Then go back and try again._

_But-_

_Riki needs me. You can take care of yourself. I trust you._

xxx

White lights, shredding the darkness. Guy freezes, Kiri doesn't move.

"Cut him loose," Raoul orders.

Guy begins to shift, but Raoul's voice stops him. "Not you."

Kiri raises his hand to shield his eyes as he turns his head, as if to ask something, but then he moves, slowly, to where Katze is tied to the wall. Kiri sets the gun down by his feet and fumbles to loosen the ties that hold Katze's wrists. Raoul tosses him a jackknife. Kiri is trembling badly. He cuts Katze's skin when he slices off the plastic band. Katze slumps. Kiri breaks his fall, catching him and letting him sag against the wall before shrinking back.

Men in black uniforms rush into the light, grab hold of Guy and Kiri, and then Raoul steps from the shadows. He looks angry in a cold, composed way as he looks down at Katze, then across to the officer in charge. "Time for fireworks," Raoul says.

"No." Katze wants to shout, but his voice is only a rough whisper. Raoul hears it, turns - and for a split second, he seems startled from his frosty self-possession. Katze has the gun, and it's trained on Raoul.

"No?"

Katze leans against the wall. His hands are numb. He has to rest his swollen wrists on his drawn-up knee to hold the gun steady, but his aim is easy, with Raoul so close and bathed in light against the backdrop of darkness. The glow on the horizon has grown brighter, a false dawn that bleeds into the night.

"Don't do it."

The concerned voice of the officer breaks the sudden silence. "Sir, we-"

"You wouldn't shoot me," Raoul cuts in, talking to Katze.

"Yes," Katze rasps, "yes, I would."

Raoul's gaze locks with Katze's, and for a moment, they are still, suspended in time.

And then Raoul turns and raises his hand in a sharp gesture. "Stand down," he orders, in a tone that forbids any argument.

xxx

It is the scent that weaves into his nightmares and prods him to open his eyes. Sharp, clean, bittersweet. Familiar. It does strange things to him. He can hear a rhythmic bleep closeby, speeding up as he tries to shift. He can hardly feel his limbs, and for a moment he panics. The bleeping becomes frantic, and then there is light, and warmth, a touch to his cheek, words he can't quite make sense of, then his name in a deep, cool voice.

"Katze."

Raoul's face. His expression a mix of cross and concerned. Sensation rolls back into Katze in heavy waves, and with it comes the echo of pain, numbed by medication. He can see a white ceiling, a drip. When he turns his head, he can watch Raoul pull a plastic chair close and sit down.

"I nearly lost you." Raoul sounds accusing, almost angry.

"Hey," Katze murmurs, "nine lives..." His voice is a rough whisper, barely above the twitter of the monitor that counts his heartbeat. He can hear someone laugh, reminding him of Riki's voice, bright and lively. _You thought that was funny... but it's got to be true..._

Raoul leans forward to catch his gaze. "You spent about eight and a half of those," he growls. "What were you thinking?" A small silence, then, "You would have done it. You would have killed me. Why?"

"I would have shot you," comes the quiet, pained answer, "who knows if I'd killed you." He shifts, winces. "They're people. Kiri, Guy, me. We're people."

"You don't belong with that scum."

"Ceres is my home."

"Ceres is your territory."

"That too."

Raoul draws a deep breath. "Well. We are maintaining a presence for now. I hope you will make this unnecessary once you are out of here. How are you feeling?"

Katze grunts. "Hell, it hurts. Can't you make it good?"

Raoul gazes at him for a long moment, before slowly shaking his beautiful head. "I could make you whole again, but our science still has its limits."

Katze smirks. "Sure. You look... informal," he says as he takes in the sight of Raoul in black turtleneck and jeans.

Raoul sits back, his hand settling on the railing of the hospital bed, not quite touching Katze's arm that is stuck with the drip. "I have requested time off."

"Huh?"

A wry smile passes over Raoul's face. "I made a decision, yet I let you determine its outcome. I compromised myself. Now I have to live with the consequences. I am considering my resignation."

In the silence that follows, Katze can hear his heartbeat tick by, fast and easy, skipping along the road that takes him back to life. "Is that easier," he says at last, "than trying to change things?"

"Some changes need more time than we have. I had to re-evaluate my priorities."

"Does that mean you thought it over?"

There is a small pause, before Raoul nods. "The Council is in session to discuss the options. They might decide to replace me. Much will depend on Jupiter."

"I can't... I won't leave Ceres."

"I can wait," Raoul says, with his familiar calm.

His confidence makes Katze half relieved, half annoyed, an uncomfortable mix. "Don't be so damn sure of yourself. Where's Kiri?"

Raoul's eyes darken but his expression stays smooth. "I believe he left with your... friend."

"Guy?"

"They are on the run. There's a warrant out for Guy. The police wanted to offer a reward for his capture. I thought you might feel that this was not necessary."

Katze closes his eyes. "Sure." For a while, they stay unmoving, in companionable silence. It is broken by a nurse who comes in to check on Katze, replaces the bag of fluids on the drip and scribbles her notes onto a schedule on the bedside table. The smell of hospital hangs heavily in the air of the room when she leaves.

"What will happen now?" Katze murmurs, suddenly tired to the bones.

"Who knows? Perhaps someone will try to kill me. Or you. We could move on. Live, together. I would like that. We can dream, can't we?"

From the soft fog into which he is sinking, Katze struggles back to awareness. "But..."

"We all have our destiny. It doesn't mean that we have to accept it. I will wait for the Council, and Jupiter, to make up their minds." Raoul leans forward, clear green melting into deep gold, and suddenly a smile softens his features. "But I know that they need me. Let them simmer.

"And you... you need me?" Katze challenges.

Raoul's gaze remains steady. "In many ways."

"It helps to have one man controlling the slums, right?"

"Isn't that what you wanted? To be in control?"

"And you... to control that man..."

Raoul's hand settles on Katze's wrist and gently strokes upward. Katze feels his skin burn, raw and flaky from being scorched by the sun during those endless hours in the ruins of Dana Bahn. "Yes," Raoul admits, "it helps."

"So you decided..."

"I am a politician, too," Raoul replies quietly. "It would have been difficult to deal with a turf war. Civil unrest, the Council worried, Jupiter... calculating the options. We both know what that would mean. I hoped to forestall this kind of situation."

"By invading Ceres with SWAT units?"

"At least," comes the soft rejoinder, "they can be seen."

_Unlike my work,_ Katze thinks.

"There is no need to repeat the mistakes of the past."

Katze turns his face away and closes his eyes. "Yes."

"That was not all though," Raoul says.

"Whatever you say," Katze murmurs, tiredness overwhelming him at last.

xxx


	6. Chapter 6

Katze's room is painted pale yellow, the colour of sunlight. Through a large window he can see the sweep of the city, glittering skyscrapers and busy highways. Trying to move soon teaches him that he needs to rest and wait until his ribs heal and whatever bits are crushed or bruised inside him. He finds a bedpan by his bed and, to his chagrin, has to use it a few times before he can manage lurching to the bathroom.

Days turn into weeks. His burnt skin peels in layers and renews itself, patchy pink, turning into pale, freckled white. It remains tender, and he hates the way warm water seems to make it flare up again. The bruises on his face fade. He has his cracked teeth pulled and replaced with implants. His wrists look like his hands have been cut off and stitched back on. Those marks, he is told, are likely to stay, rugged reddish bands that would be difficult to remove because the skin there is so thin. The medics are pleasant and knowledgeable, but he is not interested in medical details. He is conscious of his exposed, hurting body and what it is lacking. They don't mention it, yet it is enough for him to know that they know. He is trying to distance himself from this, being treated, made an object once more. He fails, and it gets him down.

Outside, summer is gaining strength, draining the colours of the city and bleaching the sky into a blinding white. Nights are filled with the orange glow of the bowl of smog that hangs heavily over the city, and the glimpse of countless stars beyond.

Katze wants to leave the sterile little room. He is desperate for air. Beyond the glimmer of the heat-scorched roads he can see the darker, rugged belt of Ceres, tight around the soaring highrises and beautiful parks, encroaching on its shiny core. A chokehold cutting off the roads that are filled with expensive cars and chic people. Katze feels a strange kind of anger rummage around in his guts, something black and heavy that is brewing in his mind, and he does not want to think about what it means. It fills him with a silent, seething kind of energy that as yet has no vent.

Raoul lets him stew. Katze asks the doctors to get him mobile. He pesters, in a quiet, frosty way. They are not used to this kind of chilly demands, delivered without the shred of a doubt that he is not only a patient but a client backed by money and power, and he doesn't care whether it's legal. They try to reason with him. In the end, they comply. They put him into a kind of corset, laced tight around his broken ribs so the bones don't shift and poke holes into his lungs. They reduce his dosage of painkillers, and he starts sweating and freezing as cold turkey sets in, but he is prepared for this and sees it through, and then, leaning against the walls for support, he starts wandering the hospital. He shuffles along glossy clean hallways, alone at night, restless by day, like a ghost. He only stops to eat and sleep, when exhaustion forces him back into bed.

They give him his release date at last. He is unspeakably relieved but as he starts counting the days, then hours, resentment boils up inside him along with an odd nervousness. He wonders, having been cut off from his work for so long, what he will find on returning. And why, in all this time, Raoul hasn't shown up again.

When he is given his clothes, they are the same Guy had stripped off him, although they are washed and pressed and smell sickly sweet, of too much softener. On top of the small stack, a bag of prescription medicines. Underneath the bag, his gun, empty, the magazine in a pocket of his coat along with his car keys. In the other pocket he finds his pass to Raoul's office. He is sure the pass wasn't there when he Guy caught up with him.

In the deep garage underneath the hospital stands his roadster, gleaming, as new. Katze leans against it and bends at the hip, his ribs still stiffened by the corset, to reach into the gloves compartment. Finds a new packet of cigarettes, and the old, dusty one with the two Black Moon. A wry smile curves his lips as he lights up.

_Thinking of everything now, are we? Subtle hints, my ass. It's all the same shit, and we are what we are. Good job I know where I belong..._

xxx

Ceres is crawling with riot police and barricades, dotted with roadchecks. The streets look like a warzone, with more graffitis, broken windows, scattered bricks that pile up against armoured jeeps and tanks with watercannons mounted to their turrets. People scurry past or scowl, some shout abuse at the armed men behind their clear riot shields, but they stand in silence, stolid, like rocks. Katze finds that his office pass is as good as a golden ticket. He gets waved through and arrives at his nest as a stifling day melts into a hardly cooler summer evening. A poster is pasted to the garage gate. It is torn and dirty, but he knows without looking whose picture it carries.

_Neat. Everyone knows who to blame for this mess. And I'll be the good cop this time. Funny that._

He almost feels sorry for Guy, but not quite. It's only when he thinks of Kiri that a twinge of something else tugs at him. He bats it down, quickly and efficiently.

_Conscience. Jesus, what would I do with it here?_

It's strange to be back at his old place. Downstairs, it reeks of rats and stale piss. The room above the garage is filled with the pungent smell of clogged drains that creeps in from the half open bathroom door. A layer of dust has settled over everything - the bed which puffs powdery clouds of it as he plops down on the mattress, the computer terminal, the floor. Katze lights a cigarette to drive away the stink. His laptop isn't there. He doesn't need to wonder who has it.

_Tomorrow. I'm gonna be up to this tomorrow. Should give my thanks at least, for getting the car tidied up. How are you these days, Raoul? If you weren't around anymore, my pass wouldn't have worked. And you must have been dying to know what was on my laptop. Have your nerds figured it out yet? I wonder..._

He feels cold in spite of the muggy warmth that suffuses the concrete building. Cautious, he lies down, clothes and all, on his bed. It is as when Kiri made it. Katze takes a couple of deep pulls at his fag, burning it down to the filter, and gropes for the packet to light a new cigarette on the smouldering butt.

_Kiri, you idiot. Change of habit, should have picked up on it. It's never a good sign, not in this business._

Still not able to move much without pain, he unbuttons his shirt, scrubs with a corner of it at his face that feels sticky with sweat. He finishes the cigarette and squeezes the butt out with his fingers before dropping it on the floor. Closing his eyes, he listens into the noisy darkness - shouts, fighting, the clatter of gunfire, a siren in the distance. Somewhere a ghettoblaster bellows something that at a lower volume might have been easygoing. As it is, the song sounds defiant, the equivalent of a dirty finger.

_Ceres at its best, _Katze thinks lazily as he lets himself drift into a dream-ridden doze. _Kiss my ass, Jupiter..._

He is too exhausted to wake from the small creak that comes from the garage door. It melts into the patchwork of images and nightmares that flit through his mind, like the metallic echo of steps on the metal stairs to his room. Katze is no longer alone in his dreams. A shadow settles on his chair by the computer screen. Waiting as he watches Katze sleep.

xxx


	7. Chapter 7

There is something in the swell of darkness around him that seeps into his mind. Like oil soaking into earth, making it sticky and heavy. Like piss running down his leg as he stands naked in the baking sun, his wrists cut open by the sharp edges of the cable ties. He can see his hands, yanked up above his head, purplish red and puffed up from lack of circulation. There is blood trickling down his arms. _Nine, _someone says behind him. A voice made of dust, lifeless and indifferent. His shoulderjoints hurt as if they've been wrenched from their sockets, and he can feel his skin blister as he is roasting in the dead heat of summer. But when he looks down at himself, as if the wall he is facing was made of glass, he can see it's not piss but blood running from his groin. The world starts fogging up, black and red, and the ground feels like hot steel under the soles of his feet. He wants to throw up but there is nothing in his stomach. His knees are too weak to support his weight any longer. It is taken instead by his wrists. His head lolls back, and he can feel his eyes bulge as he watches the plastic straps cut deeper, severing flesh and tendons, exposing the white bone beneath. He tries to scream. but his mouth is too dry, his tongue a lump of sticky flesh that clogs his throat, and all he hears is a panicked, guttural grunt. Breathe, his mind howls, run, run, run, but he can't move at all, pinned into place, his sliced flesh bleeding away until his feet are in a puddle of bloody mud...

Katze jolts awake and yells as his ribs protest against his jerky sitting up. Gasping for breath, he sags against the headboard. He struggles against he urge to vomit as he shakily covers his middle with his hand. There is a patch of sticky dampness on his jeans. His watch tells him it's too early to get up, and he is too exhausted to bother with work yet. He takes a few moments to grasp for composure, then peels off his clothes. His fingers tremble as he touches his middle. It's still sensitive, and he rubs at the nub of flesh, hating the feeling of scars and of the wet nightmare drying between his fingers.

The shadow by the window is gone.

xxx

Katze tells himself he has no time to spare. Not a moment, not a heartbeat, to see Raoul and get the laptop back. Instead, Katze buys a new one, hunts down his data in the maelstroem of the internet where it's hidden in plain sight, and for a while he pretends that's all there's to it.

He sinks himself into work, and it both revives and drains him. Refreshing old contacts, reminding them he is still around. Bringing himself up to speed on gossip and business news, facts and rumours, vibes and moods, all combining to a dark, intense, heaving patchwork, a blanket that stifles the flames that have flared up in Ceres before they can turn into a ring of fire around the city. He is not afraid of what he is doing. He is not lying to himself, either. With ruthless efficiency, he chokes the skirmishes that have sprung up, until the invisible territories are redrawn, the divisions clear and respected once more. It is dirty business, and he has no illusions about his job.

And still, Katze thinks, the heart of the city is there, in the dirty outskirts. It pumps and endless stream of filth and life into the arteries of the shiny centre, a flood of money and energy, electrifying, startling.

He waits for the best moment to clear up misunderstandings, and he finds an opportunity to set the balance straight with the manager of the club where Kiri used to dance. _Going behind my back,_ Katze tells the man, _it's stupid, and cosying up with Guy to snuff me, that's unacceptable..._ There are no third chances. By the rules of the game they are all playing, he's been patient allowing a second one, but it's been wasted, mistaken for weakness. Katze doesn't hesitate wiping the slate clean. He is still generous, sharing a cigarette with his ex-business partner, and he watches as the aromatic Black Moon turns into bitter ash and the man's eyes glaze over. There are always people lining up to work for Katze, and the new manager, one of Katze's lieutenants, has been carefully vetted. He will be compliant for some time to come.

_Until I'm past my prime, or he thinks he's got one up on me, and then it starts all over. That's people for you._ Katze doesn't resent it. It pays, he thinks, to live for the day and ignore tomorrow until it comes knocking on the door. But he can't quite escape it because he needs plans, strategies and cunning to keep his business going, the sprawling web of firms and names, connections and safeguards. He translates it all into figures. Profit, loss, turnover, write-offs, percentages and shares. Numbers are certain. Clearly defined, malleable into statistics that are devoid of anything he doesn't want to acknowledge. Numbers are his toys, and for him it's a welcome distraction from more practical aspects of his work when he sits down to scan his books.

The SWAT men stand by. There is less fighting in the streets, and the controls ease off. By day, the air smells of hot dust, fuel fumes and hope. Dusk falls sooner, and at night the first chill of autum cools the nights. A couple of times Katze thinks he's caught a glimpse of Kiri, looking thin and sober, but each time it turns out that his mind has fooled him - the first man is washing cars at a fuel station and from across the road looks older than Kiri, the second time the semblance is startling, merging with another memory, closer, sharper, still aching, but it's too quick, the dark haired youth turning a corner into a filthy side street before Katze can pull up his roadster and chase after him.

xxx

He tries to sleep as little as possible. Once, he drives out to the ruined station in an attempt to show a dirty finger to his ghosts. It's early morning, a cool, still dawn where even the city seems to slide into a gentle lull. Katze parks his car and gets out. Groping for his cigarettes, he lets the chill of autumn seep into his bones. When he lights up, his hands are shaking. Slowly, he walks on, searching for the spot. _Strange, _it drifts through his mind, _shouldn't I find this fucking place in my sleep? Don't I, every damned night? That's the idea, isn't it?_

Instead, he finds himself wandering across sloping, broken ground towards the steel gate that sealed Iason's fate. The monumental plates, thick enough to withstand the fire of Elite tanks for a week, have been wrenched apart by the explosion that destroyed the bowels of the building, its roots, several storeys deep. They've crashed and grown into the ground, where sand and weeds pile up against the rusting surface. The roof of the old station has caved in and the entire area is slowly collapsing into a rugged crater, overgrown with pale grass and small shrubs. Soon it will be covered, fading from sight and from memory.

_A tomb, _Katze thinks, _that's what this is. I can't feel you anymore, Iason. I've lost you... Is this how it ends with us?_

He shivers. And then he catches sight of the anchor, the welded ring, cemented into the wall that frames the gate on one side. It's a corner sheltered by an overhanging slab of concrete, held only by pitted steel rebar. He recognises the broken bottle nearby, a rock, shards of glass and a few cigarette butts, all thickly covered in dust. For a moment he stands still, frozen in place, and then he bends over and throws up, retching until he spits bile.

xxx

That evening, he goes to the club to get drunk and laid. He picks one of the dancers and they do it in one of the small rooms at the back of the bar that are rented out by the half hour. The man is young, trim and shorter than Katze, his dark hair falling thick and glossy over jaded brown eyes. When he takes off his kit, he is pale under a fake tan, and his smile is tired, but he tries to make small talk anyway. Katze tells him to turn around, to stay that way and shut up. And while the young bloke is on his stomach on the cot that's the only piece of furniture and Katze has his way with him, the redhead forgets his nightmares for a while and delves into his memories instead.

xxx


	8. Chapter 8

He has to get back to his den at some point. Exhausted and numb with booze and other stuff, he lets himself in and trudges up the metal stairs. In the dark, he tears off his coat and tee, puts the kettle on and goes to relieve himself. Hears the kettle switch off and drops the rest of his clothes onto a pile of damp washing by the shower. Naked, a towel in one hand, he steps back into the bedroom - and freezes.

"Hi," Kiri says from his place by the computer.

A wedge of yellow light slices into the darkness from the open bathroom door. Katze stares at the gun in Kiri's hands. They are steady, the muzzle with the silencer pointing at Katze's stomach. It's his own weapon, and he knows it's ready to fire.

"It's true," Kiri says, waving it lightly at him. "You're one of those..." He trails off, undecided. His eyes are clear, his voice lost and raspy.

"Yes." Katze covers his groin with the towel. "One of those." It doesn't do much to him, no more than a twinge of something unpleasant that he can shrug off. "You sound sober."

Kiri blinks. "I cleaned up. I'm working now."

Katze's lips twitch. Kiri shakes his head. "I'm cleaning cars. Washing windows, that sort of stuff. The garage two blocks down, by the old checkpoint." A small break, but he clearly doesn't like the stillness. "You saw me the other day, didn't you?"

Katze takes a step into the room, stills when Kiri rises from the edge of the desk and clasps the gun more firmly.

"You ran," Katze says. _Or perhaps I ran, the day I saw you at the garage..._

Kiri swallows, his bony adam's apple jumping. He looks very young in a grey tee and slashed jeans, ratty trainers and a denim vest that smells of cheap washing powder.

Katze can see his nails whiten. "Go on," he says, "do it."

Kiri bites his lower lip. "I wanted to ask..."

Katze wants a cigarette. "Can you be quick?"

Kiri pulls back the safety catch. It clicks, disengages. Katze draws a slow, deep breath. "Ask then."

"Were you lying?"

Katze thinks a moment, watching the gun in Kiri's hands, then glancing up at his face, eyes that are huge and accusing, the pinched line of his mouth, the hollow cheeks with a shade of dark stubble, the messy dark hair that reminds him-

"When? At the old station? Or back then, when you sold out? You remember, don't you? He helped along with that, right?"

"Yes," Kiri rasps, a sob rising in his voice, "I remember... some stuff at least."

"You want the truth?"

The gun trembles. Kiri scrubs at his eyes with one hand, then stares back at Katze who can tell he isn't sure.

"Truth," Katze says, "it's overrated. "Ask five people, you get five versions. Nobody made you lie to Riki or get Guy worked up. You made a few choices, like everyone else. Every turn of the road, you decide which way to walk. And this is where it got you." He watches, takes a guess, a cautious estimate, and another step towards Kiri. "You back with him?"

Quickly, Kiri wipes his runny nose against his shoulder. "None of your business."

"He still hitting you? Making you shoot up?"

Kiri swallows hard. "You're... nasty." There is something helpless about the way he says it, the childlike words, plaintive and without force. Katze finds this worse than shouts or tears. It wrenches around in his guts but there is no time to worry about anything but the loaded gun in Kiri's surprisingly calm hands.

"You knew," Katze says, probing, "back at Dana Bahn, didn't you?"

This time, Kiri stays silent. Katze takes another step and is almost within reach. The muzzle takes a dip, pointing at his feet, then swings up again slowly until it homes in on the towel.

Katze can feel cold sweat run down between his shoulder blades. "Kiri."

The young man jumps, draws his shoulders up. He presses back against the desk. Seizing his chance, Katze reaches for the gun. "Give that to me."

For a breathless moment, Kiri's knuckles whiten, but then he sags. Katze takes the weapon from his limp fingers. He puts the catch back on and carefully sets the gun on the footend of the bed. "Jesus," he mumbles as he wraps the towel around his waist. Groping for his cigarettes, he finds them in his coat pocket. His hands are shaky and he has to try a couple of times to light up. He bites the filter as he takes a few hasty drags.

Kiri turns and makes a mug of strong black coffee. "I know you're still having nightmares," he says over his shoulder. "I've been here... before. You were sleeping."

Katze watches, breathing smoke from his nose and waiting for his pulse to slow. _Of all the people to teach me a lesson... Forgiveness. What a strange thing. _When he thinks he can speak again without his voice cracking, he talks to Kiri's back because it seems easier that way. "I'm sorry."

Kiri turns, links his fingers and makes the joints pop. He stares at Katze, who finds it difficult to hold his gaze. "We're even now," Kiri says at last into the silence between them. "Aren't we?"

Katze takes another pull at his fag. "I won't come after you. Or him."

"Whatever."

"You need something, you know where to find me," Katze says, the words coming as if on autopilot.

"I'll try not to." Kiri huffs. "I couldn't even do _this_ right."

"Was it his idea?"

Kiri gives him a small, bitter smile. "Guess. I just wanted to know... Never mind. He said it was pointless."

And when the garage door creaks shut behind him and Katze sits down with the mug of coffee cradled in his hands, he thinks that they'll never be even, and that it's a good thing Kiri won't, or doesn't want to understand. And how, in the end, it's great to be alive.

xxx

The armed police units leave. The news are blaring across Ceres from radios and public screens - the state of emergency has been lifted. No more red alerts and curfews, no road blocks. A day and a night of uniforms trekking back from the chaotic streets of Ceres, the monotonous droning of diesel engines, the thumping of boots on cracked tarmac, barked commands and the grinding of tyres and chains on dirty roads, they are gone, withdrawing from Ceres as swiftly and efficiently as they had overwhelmed it. The silence is deafening. The streets remain empty at first, no one sure what's going on. No one trusting the apparent ceasefire. People stay hidden, watching stray dogs and tumbleweed, scraps of paper tossing about in the dusty breeze, and a few daring rats dashing past. When it sinks in, people tear apart the barricades and set light to the debris. The next few days are not much different from the riots during the weeks before, but the celebrations die down soon enough, and Ceres is back to normal.

_Job done,_ Katze thinks as he drops onto his bed the evening he is told that the last fires have been put out. He sets a tumbler with something sharp to drink and a packet of cigarettes onto his chest. He lights up, fills his mouth with alcohol and lets it burn his tongue before swallowing. The flavours of booze and smoke make him gag, and he starts laughing as he watches a spider abseil from a fresh web on the ceiling. It is Raoul who gets in touch at last, as a silent, cool dawn rises over Ceres. It's a laconic message that pops up on the screen of Katze's new laptop.

_Congratulations._

xxx

His pass opens the doors to the city for him, and he finds himself walking the long, sweeping hallways that he knows as well as the backstreets of Ceres. Somehow they also feel like home. _The godfather paying a visit to a colleague..._ He smirks as he catches the gaze of a passing Elite. _Get used to it._

His old laptop sits in its docking station, on its usual place. Katze's place, opposite Raoul's chair behind the glass desk.

Raoul is on the terrace. Wearing casual grey, he is leaning against the bannister to watch the watery autumn sky fade into a hazy dusk. A breeze is stirring his hair, this glorious, incongruous flood of pale gold, and Katze thinks he can smell its scent, sharp and sweet.

It nearly takes his breath away. For a moment, he has to pause, overwhelmed, his knees going weak and his heart pumping faster, a rush of heat flushing through him that makes him dizzy. Desire, biting sharply. Longing, a disturbing ache deep in his chest. He leans against the wall by the door to steady himself, and to watch Raoul for a little longer. Until he feels up to facing him. To ask for the laptop back and tell him to stuff his privileges where the sun doesn't shine.

On the ledge, by Raoul's elbow, stands a glass of red wine. The bottle, half empty, is on the desk next to a clean glass.

Katze draws a deep breath, shakes his head and pushes away to cross the room. Raoul turns abruptly. The glass drops and shatters. The red wine splatters over the pale tiles and stains Raoul's trousers. Katze pauses. For a moment, everything is in balance. And then he does what his reason tells him is stupid, absolutely hopeless, idiotic. He steps over the shards and splashes of rusty red and reaches out.

Their embraze is hard and quick, but as they pull back, there is a tiny break, a rift in time, before they draw close again, tightening their hold on each other until they become one. There is silence around them. His ribs hurt, he starts sweating, and his nerves are fraying. He also senses an odd calm settling in his mind. It is a strange mix.

Raoul lets go first, stepping back so he can catch Katze's gaze. "I missed you," he says, cool and certain.

Katze recovers. "It's gonna rain tonight," he retorts dryly. "There've been traffic queues this morning because the ban on Ceres work permits has been revoked. A bunch of nutters been preaching in my club last night that the world's coming to an end, what with all the dancing and whoring going on. Guess what, nobody cared. It's a shame, really, the way morals have gone down the pan, right?"

For a second, Raoul looks puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Katze reaches into his coat pocket for his fags. He peels back the foil at the top and taps out a fresh cigarette with his gloved hand. He has replaced the spent Black Moon, and there are two of them, as always, wedged between the usual white ones. Lighting up, he glances at Raoul through a breath of blue smoke. Katze's eyes glitter, narrow and almost yellow as he smiles thinly. "I like you too," he says, "a lot."

And that is all they will tell each other.  
It is enough.

xxx

**THE END - if you prefer happy endings, I suggest you stop here. If you like bitter drama, read on with chapter 9 but be warned.**


	9. Chapter 9

**If you prefer happy endings, I suggest you stop here (after chapter 8). If you like bitter drama, read on with this (chapter 9) but be warned.**

**All warnings from chapter 1 apply to this one too.**

**Additional note: As the events of this chapter are outside the bounds of the original story, I spun them out at will. No good for 'canon' fans. So here goes: spoils it a bit, but to be fair – character death. Only question is who. I read a story once without this warning and hated it – never read anything from that author again.**

xxx

Dana Bahn is no more. The ground has collapsed over thef disused mine shafts that criss-cross the desert beyond Ceres. The land has been unwanted, contaminated, and not even grant offers have attracted buyers. Raoul has bullied through regeneration plans for the area that include the crater and what remains of the ruins of the old station. The plans include the clearance and forced resettlement of the slums, followed by a building programme for new blocks of flats, shops and a business district with garages, workshops, a few entertainment premises. To erase the last trace of the old Ceres, he tells the Council, of the shame it brought to Tanagura... It's wide open in its duplicity, allowing everyone to read into it what they most wish for. It's perfect.

"You got them," Katze says when Raoul gets back to the office from the latest Council session.

"Iason would have approved," Raoul says, stepping to the panorama window that offers sweeping views of the city from the top of Eos tower. "He hated that place."

_And that's what it's really about,_ Katze thought. _He didn't even lie. The last of the old Ceres that nearly brought the Elite to their knees. They needed the army to break it and they needed to shell Dana Bahn to flush the slum rats out. And then Iason went there to die, and Riki. Coincidence? Who knows. It doesn't matter anymore. It will all go, give way to money. Deal with it._

Katze, intimately familiar with Raoul's intentions, has used his network of dummy firms and middlemen to buy almost all of the area for what amounts to small change for him. By the time the Council has approved the programme, the price of the land has shot up. Without lifting a finger to do anything with it, Katze sells at dizzying profit margins, satisfying both Raoul and his own goals. The Council invites contract bids, and Katze makes sure there is little competition, and that the bids the Council sees link back into his network of firms. It will be his contractors undertaking most of the clean-up, building works, houses, roads, and his firms will supply the machinery and the fuel for it, dig trenches for gas and oil pipelines and wire the street lighting. Raoul will take a share, and most of the members of the building commission that will sign off the final contract. Katze will pay off countless, carefully recorded or remembered obligations, and after he's done that, there will still be enough for him to make spades of money.

He is rich. He rules business in Ceres and in most of the satellite cities without competition. He has made it out of the murky darkness of the black market into the bright new day of legal enterprise. He can have whatever and whoever he wants, cater to every whim that strikes him.

Yet whenever possible, when Raoul doesn't need him, Katze goes back to his den, marked for demolition like all of Ceres. The dingy room above the old garage that once belonged to Guy. And at night, alone on his bed with its dank mattress and squeaking metal frame, Katze is elsewhere, dreaming of Iason while he's touching himself.

xxx

There is disquiet among the Elite, and the satellite cities that cluster around Eos become restless – someone has leaked information to the press, and whilst the papers have been gagged, attempts to silence the web and its countless tendrils have failed. The scandal of the former Head of the Council, top Elite and Jupiter's favoured creation, having fallen for one of his toys has transpired at last. _Unforgivable, _scream the headlines, _the ultimate taboo broken, they even coupled, how unspeakably dirty, made worse because the toy was from the slums..._

Raoul, at first bent on suppressing the information to keep Iason's memory unsullied and his own position intact and unchallenged, discusses the options with Katze. They decide to watch, assess their adversaries and supporters, and play the game in order to govern it. Iason the tarnished Elite becomes Iason the Reformer, the Hero who planned to soften Jupiter's rigid rule, to offer citizenship to all residents of Tanagura and do away with absolute ownership. Manipulation, disinformation, bending and breaking the facts all work for Raoul as well as for Katze. The redhead's role is swiftly reframed from the kingpin of Ceres to hardened, respectable, self-made businessman who has been drafted in to assist and advise on all matters concerning the slums. And while he is more hated at Eos than ever, he's gaining ground in Ceres as a figure of hope, and the more pragmatic among the Elite quietly start doing business with him to hedge their bets.

They're getting on just fine. Raoul, heavily criticised at the latest Council session, with some Elite walking out and others booing while he is trying to speak about the reforms, holds the first press conference ever to be open to all media. He promises uncensored talk, and he delivers it – after having it planned, word for word, carefully and circumspect, with Katze in close session. They throw questions at him, all of them predictable, and he doesn't quell rumours that he's sleeping with Katze. No denial, no confirmation either. It's inflaming the imagination of the bolder part of the press, but if anything, it brightens his image as the enlightened new ruler of Tanagura. It's still considered illegal, but the law is crumbling, and new rules are being made fast. Katze thinks it's ironic that the time he and Raoul have to sleep with each other has shrunk to a few stolen moments.

He lounges in Raoul's office suite to watch the live net transmission. It gives him satisfaction to be in this place, smoking it blue and drinking Raoul's wine and vodka, and watch Jupiter's system shake down to its foundations.

_Strange, _he thinks, _that the computer hasn't tried to stop any of this. _He wonders whether this was it. Whether it was supposed to happen. The scratch on the shiny perfection of the Elite that became a crack and then a rift...

Raoul announces that he has tabled proposals to amend Jupiter's Code – modest changes but enough to cause furore – unfree persons should be allowed to buy themselves out, have a right to veto a sale of their contract, and the right to log complaints against their owners – not quite the right to see abuses prosecuted, but it's a small ripple that will cause giant waves. He is suggesting to provide civic services to the regenerated areas. In his calm, schooled voice he lectures on courage as he calculates the value of work that is provided willingly against the cost of the Dana Bahn unrests.

_Money talks,_ Katze thinks, _they'll get that. _

That evening, when he lies in Raoul's bed, his skin covered in cooling sweat, Raoul above and inside him, he asks.

"Switch her off?" Raoul roots himself deep and stills. He looks at Katze, a slow smile curving his lips. "Perhaps. But she's still useful, is she not? Let them believe a bit longer that Jupiter rules us. It will make things easier."

xxx

Elite are not flawless any longer, their godlike status wearing away like too thin gold plating. Raoul makes allies quicker than enemies. True or not, suddenly there are other rumours – the news that Iason might have been of mixed descent causes a storm of anger at Eos and a wave of support at Ceres and Mistral.

Katze knows that only Raoul could have had proof of this. And when the papers 'discover' that Katze's lineage may involve Elite blood, he is sure that Raoul is behind this. But as Elite are shaken, Katze's hold grows firmer. Having spent all of his life in no-man's-land, he suddenly belongs – everywhere. Ceres claims him as their own. Elite feel better about dealing with him and become bolder about doing business with the slumlord made good. There aren't many that say he's betrayed the slums, and they fall silent soon. Raoul, having affirmed his position, is content.

He visits the dying streets of the old Ceres in a bulletproof car with a cavalcade of heavily armed police and bodyguards – relying on light bodyarmour under his clothes and on Katze to do his part. Out of sight, the sidestreets are blocked off and secured by more police, special units with the order to shoot to kill, and reporters with their cameras and microphones aren't allowed to go there. They film colourful posters on housewalls instead, people lining the road, waving and crowding against a cordon of bright ribbons to catch a glance of the beautiful Elite that's come to grace their filthy nest. Some are booing and throwing dirt, but most of them gawking, starstruck, willing to forgive the past for the sake of a better future.

_Easy. Raoul, one of us now, _Katze muses, and he doesn't even feel cynical, just a bit melancholy. _And there isn't a drop of mixed blood in him. Still... Anything's forgotten for a bit of gloss and shine, and why not? That's just the way things are._

Raoul has seized the moment and turned it around, and now he's riding high on the wave of success, his re-election as the Head of Tanagura Council almost certain, backed by the power of Ceres.

xxx

Guy sits on a bench in front of the gleaming new shopping centre that's begun to rise above the planed crater that had once been Dana Bahn. The ground has only been superficially cleaned up. Live for most of the new Ceres, the deeper layers are still contaminated but it would have been too expensive to move so much soil around. But Guy doesn't know that, and he doesn't care. He is watching people park on the sprawling new parking lot and wander into the glass mall where some shops and a few fast food places are already open while at the back diggers and trucks are moving around amid noise and dirt. Builders are crawling all over the place. Nobody recognises him. Guy has cut his hair and dyed it black. He is wearing sunshades, jeans over lace-up boots, and a loose blue jacket over a turtleneck jumper. He's tucked the empty sleeve into the jacket. Next to him, an almost new bike, modified with clutch and gas levers on the same side of the handlebar, is propped onto its sidestand.

An old newspaper lies on the bench. The headline gushes about the success of the regeneration programme, and how it's brought new work and money to Ceres. On one side of the new shopping centre, people have built nests out of cardboard boxes, papers and rags. They sleep there, among plastic bags that hold their possessions. The name of the centre is displayed in large neon letters that haven't been connected to their electrical wiring yet. Jupiter Regeneration Centre. Jupiter Regeneration is one of Katze's dummy companies.

He is tired of trying, and he's been lucky that nobody has caught him yet. The warrant on is head is still out there. The mediamen have fobbed him off because they find his story too risky, and he has no proof of anything. _The truth, _he thinks, _bullshit._ He's taken it to the web, but he finds it hard to write, and whatever he puts up there about Riki, it disappears in a flood of half-truths and lies, or it vanishes altogether.

Tucked away amid the last-but-one page local news is a small feature titled _Iason Mink – tainted hero?_ It talks about recent street riots in the remaining old part of Ceres, rumours about the mixed descent of other Elite, and speculates that maybe Iason meant to lead the slums out of their misery, or whether dying under suspect circumstances was his only escape from exposure and Jupiter's law. No word of Riki, or any investigation into the explosion of Dana Bahn that is being described as the start of the regeneration programme.

xxx

Kiri finishes washing the flash red car and puts the rag and bucket down to light a cigarette, when Guy steps up to him. "Hi."

Kiri gives him a blank stare, but then something flickers in his eyes. "Hi," he says cautiously.

"You recognise me?"

Kiri shakes his head. "My head... it's not very good."

Guy steps closer and stoops a little so he can snag Kiri's gaze. "You remember Riki?"

Kiri takes a step back. "No... I'm sorry, I-"

"Kiri. You remember your name?"

Silence.

"I need somewhere to crash." Guy puts his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a banknote. "Something to eat. Just for one night. A few hours, no more."

xxx

Kiri has a tiny room, a shack, in one of the condemned houses. It stinks in the corridor and on the stairs, but the room is swept, the blankets on the mattress on the floor are pulled smooth. Guy sits down on the makeshift bed while Kiri uses a kettle on the floor to boil water and make tea. He sets the mug down by Guy's side and folds into a crouch before him.

Guy is taking the mug and blows over the hot liquid. "What are you looking at?"

"I want to come with you," Kiri says, his tone flat as he forms each word slowly, laboriously, with spaces between them.

Surprised, Guy studies him for a few moments. "Where d'you think I'm going?"

Kiri shrugs. "Wherever." A frown appears on his face as he tries to find the right words, but then he relaxes, resignation in his eyes. "Wherever," he repeats wearily, but Guy knows that Kiri understands.

"There's no coming back from that trip."

"I am at the end. Anyway."

"He's been good to you."

A small break, then a slow, closed smile. "Not that good," Kiri says.

xxx

Raul doesn't like Katze going back to the old garage, but the redhead won't listen. "Makes a good impression to be close to the crowd, doesn't it," he tells Raoul, "and anyway, I need a break. Ceremony, protocol, all that shit." Cautious and concerned, Raoul tries to talk him into taking some hired muscle along at least, but Katze refuses, saying he'd rather rely on his own company, and the less fuss, the less danger there is...

He freezes when he steps out of the shower, towelling his hair, and sees the silhouette of a man sitting on his chair. From the the set of his shoulders and the way he carries himself, Katze guesses that he holds a gun. _Deja vu. How often has this happened now? People walking in, sitting there... Kiri had a gun too. Should have listened to you, Raoul. That chair, I got to get rid of it..._

"C'mon," Guy says, "switch the light on, or I'll just spray you."

Katze does as asked. Guy sets the gun onto the computer table. Katze can see that the terminal has been soaked in water. Gone, the connection severed, the empty mug next to it. The battered old mug that's always been here and that he bought from Guy with the garage. A small, humiliating defeat for Guy. Katze's palmtop next to the screen and also drenched, leaving him helpless. He feels a sudden chill sink into his bones.

"You can do it yourself," Guy says into the silence, "or I'll do it for you."

Katze chances a glance over his shoulder, at the door that stands slightly ajar. A thin shadow hovering on top of the dark stairs. "Kiri?" he guesses, the echo of something that's gone before, an eternity ago.

_Leniency, _he hears Iason's angry voice in his mind. _It's weakness... _Katze feels his chest tighten. _I see your point, Iason. Should have listened._

Kiri stands in silence, clutching a rusty crowbar that he's picked up from the scrap piled up by the garage side, leftovers from the days when Guy used to mend old cars.

"Kiri," Katze starts, clutching the towel to his mutilated middle.

Kiri shakes his head. He talks slowly, awkwardly forming each word, but they fall like blows. "You gave me away."

Katze turns back to Guy. "You do this, and Raoul's going to raze Ceres to the ground."

Guy nods. "Maybe. Perhaps this time Ceres will be ready for him." A joyless smile curves his lips. "But I think he won't do a thing. He's running a business, and he wants to win his election. He'll have someone else in your place soon enough. You'll get a few headlines, maybe he'll hold a moving speech and cry a few crocodile tears for you because you're such a pillar of the new world here. I wouldn't worry. He'll be fine."

Katze feels his strength drain away. He leans against the wall. "Game's up then... Wasn't that easy?"

Guy shrugs, his eyes cool, his pain and grief locked away where Katze can't get at them and wrench around in them.

_Is that how it all ends? _Katze thinks, tired and incredulous. _What a joke..._ He draws a slow breath to gather himself, to gain some time to calculate his options. "Do I get a wish?"

Guy makes no reply, his stillness hostile and cold.

"Let me get my rags on," Katze breaks it, unable to bear it, "and take me there. To Dana Bahn."

xxx

It's a silent drive in his own car, his wrists, knees and ankles tied with cable ties. What he gets out of it? Katze asks Guy who is behind the wheel, Katze's gun in his pocket, his own in his lap. Satisfaction, Guy says calmly. It won't bring Riki back, but there will be payment, justice served, and a signal. Katze gets it but he doesn't want to. Guy tells Kiri to gag the redhead with a rag to stop him from haggling because Guy doesn't care for any of it and wants to concentrate on the road.

When dusk falls with still enough light that they don't need the headlights, but the floodlamps already casting their blinding white beams over the building site, they pull up at a place where the old road from Ceres ends, hacked open for new drainage ditches and foundations to extend the building complex further into the desert.

Guy pulls the gag off Katze's mouth. "Now you can scream all you like," he says. He keeps the gun trained on the redhead while Kiri cuts off the plastic ties.

The noise of the machines swallows most of his words, but Katze knows anyway. Lightningfast, his fist snaps up and catches Kiri's temple, and he claws into Kiri's neck, digging hard into the pressure points there. Kiri is paralysed, his eyes going wide with pain.

"I could snuff him," Katze says.

Guy shrugs. "Makes no difference now." The gun in his hand aims steadily at Katze's stomach.

Katze lets go, and Kiri stumbles away from him. Mind racing, Katze comes up with a blank. Astonished that there's nothing else to it. "Can I smoke?" he asks, to do something. Anything.

"Here," Guy holds up a scrunched, yellowed packet of cigarettes, "it's all I've kept of Riki's stuff. I'd borrowed them, but he'd only Black Moon left. That's how I knew it was you." He takes one out and tosses the packet at Katze. "Go on. Smoke."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Katze tries again. "Everything is changing. You can start over, a good life, money, a decent place to stay."

"I loved Riki." Guy's tone is glassy, lifeless. "Can you buy him back?"

"Memories," Katze says, something painful welling up inside him, sloshing over his will to make it through this and dulling his instincts. "It's stupid to hang on to them. It's a waste."

"Sure," Guy says. "Welcome to my world."

And Katze realises at last that Guy is long gone beyond grief.

xxx

There's a stack of new, ceramic drainage pipes nearby. The three men sit together, Kiri sharing with Guy. Katze sucks the smoke deep into his lungs, and he starts feeling sick and a bit dizzy. _Iason, _it drifts through his mind, _wonder whether you're waiting for me... _Colours and sounds are fading around him, until everything is a dusky, foggy mass, getting darker, softer, and he's feeling light, incredibly light. Kiri leans against Guy who's sagging back, eyelids drooping. Smoke curls from his nostrils, and a trail of dampness runs down his unshaven cheek.

And then there's silence.

xxx

**THE END**


End file.
